Saying yes...

These are the things that bother me...

In my quest to wean myself off of the large doses of caffeine I seem to be used to, and not wanting to go cold turkey, I figured I'd slowly mix decaf in with my regular coffee until I was drinking more or less decaf. I had a half a bag of regular coffee left. I ground up an equal amount of decaf and poured it in and started to mix. I tried to mix thoroughly, not wanting to one day, when almost off of the caffeine, hit a pocket of full strength coffee.

I stirred and stirred. I shook and rolled it, and when I was finally confident that the two coffees were thoroughly mixed, I suddenly wondered if I had mixed so much that I had inadvertently unmixed them. Can you mix enough that you unmix?? Obviously you can't with liquids, but what about solids?? What if the weight of my decaf was less than the weight of my full caf and the heavier grind sunk to the bottom of the bag?? I know you can over-toss a salad. You can toss so much that all of the heavy morsels are once again on the bottom of the bowl. Would the same happen to ground coffee?? Or, would you have to mix for years for that odd occurance to happen? I can't imagine if you mixed two colors of sand you could ever shake/stir enough to get them to a point when they separated by into two distinct groups.

Anyone have an answer?? I don't need to add caffeine worry to my decaffination process, that will just lead to alcohol. On second thought, maybe mixing alcohol in with brewed coffee will take the edge off. Alcohol and water are missable so I won't have to worry about whether they're adaquately mixed or not... Maybe I should just forego the coffee altoghter and just have a lovely mixed cocktail for breakfast... I wonder if they make a bacon vodka...

Yippie yippie yie...

Due to someone's earlier commentary today, I now have this little gem stuck in my head. I thought I'd share so I'm not alone.

G is for...

More alphabetizing is going on over at Snag's. Prose by Snag, illustrations by me. G is full of complete and total Snagocity and promises not to disappoint... unless you're a vegetarian...

Confessions from someone who hasn't had life beat the crap out of them yet... or crap beat the life out of them yet...

Morning conversation with the youngest lamblet... she's getting her coat on, playing with a fake worm, and waiting for the bus:

"Mom? Do you ever notice being alive?"

"Hmmm? What do you mean??"

"I mean, sometimes I'm really aware that I'm alive. It's funny because I feel so alive it's almost like I'm dreaming... and sometimes when I'm dreaming I feel like I'm awake, but I'm not, so it's odd to be awake and feel like you're dreaming."

"Yes, I know that feeling, actually, both of those feelings. Do you often notice you're alive?"

"Well, I don't really notice it a lot at school, but I do at other times, like when I'm just enjoying something. Everything seems like it glows. Things don't glow at school very often."

"I think things would glow at school more often if they weren't so busy making sure you'll pass the standardized tests...."

"Sometimes I don't like the life cycle. You're born, you live, you die... and then what?"

"Well, some people say you don't fully die... just your bod. You know that feeling you have when you're really alive? Some people say that part goes on, you just shed this vehicle. I'd like to think they're right. I'd like to think that since energy can't die, but only changes form, the spark that is us somehow goes on... but in case it doesn't, it's a good thing to really enjoy the now and to not forget that feeling alive feeling, ok??"

"Ok. Everything seems really alive right now so that's good."

And with that, the bus was coming up the block and it was time for her to head out. As she walked, she looked as it this were the first time she'd stepped foot on the planet. I kind of wanted some of what she was having...

There's something wrong when....

...you find yourself pleading for the early arrival of your least favorite month, which holds the beginning of your least favorite season. March... gack. It's usually damp, gray, mushy, chilly, muddy, did I say GRAY?!?! And yet, I cannot wait until it gets here. I've gone with the flow this winter. I've done what it's asked of me and I've done the majority of it with a smile on my face, but it's time for it to go and it's time for the promise of spring. Late spring is glorious... it's the early part that rubs me the wrong way. Yes, I'm ready for the muddy promise that is spring... even if that promise comes wrapped in March.

Fast, semi-celeb dream recap...

My night of sleep was dissected in any number of ways by a puking lamblet... my reality and dream state converged at any number of points, but these two stood out as definite dreams.

In one dream, I was staying at my niece's. Her cell phone rang and she was nowhere to be seen so I answered it. I'm not sure why I did. The voice at the other end was hushed and spewed out a bunch of covert info. I realized it was a game she was playing... some version of "Telephone". I was to pass on the name of this person, the name of the person she was supposed to call, the name of the locale where everyone was to meet and the password. I got the password right... it was troubadour.

As for the name of the caller, the person to be called and the locale of where everyone should show up? Well, when I looked down at my paper full of notes, I realized I had not written any numbers... just names... names that could either be real names or Chicago street names. I thought the person who called was Grant, but on second thought, perhaps the meeting place was on Grand. I had also scrawled Paulina and Roscoe...

The dream venue then shifted to a large building that had a bowling alley in it, an old parish hall perhaps... It was after hours and was dark, I'm not sure why we were in there, but we were... with Steve Martin, who was apparently, a good friend. He challenged me to a bowl-off. It was one shot. Whoever got the most pins with one shot could have whatever they wanted. I was game, but realized I didn't have a ball. Steve was kind enough to direct me to a tiered shelving unit in the middle of the floor that contained all kinds of balls... except they weren't... they were every object you could imagine, all with bowling ball holes drilled into them. I remember looking at a teapot and thinking it might work if it were heavy enough. It could be like curling. There was another round object which turned out to be a derby. It would never have enough weight to get to the end...

I don't think I ever chose an object and if I recall, Steve somehow found an actual bowling ball, a orange marbled one. I also couldn't think of what to ask for if I won. The dream was soon interrupted by sick lamblet calls for, "Mom!"

I'm guessing at that point, had I won, I would have asked for more sleep...

Update- it just dawned on me that a derby hat is also a bowler... egads...

Carousel of Time

In a little over a month, right around the time Kathleen becomes a new mother, my eldest lamblet will enter teen-dom. In some respects, her getting older doesn't throw me because she's is truly one of those old souls. I often joke about how she was 50 when she was born. Her being mature beyond her years is fine... it's when she starts acting like a teen that I get a little wigged out. I knew it was coming, but I guess I figured we had such a good relationship that I'd get a smaller dose. I may still get a smaller dose, but let's just say, I will not be dose-free. The lamblet is showing her teen stripes. Mom's validity in some areas is starting to wane as she becomes more confident about her place in the world. It's painful and irritating at times, but it's as it should be.

There is one thing though that has not yet changed. I can still read her face like a book, even if her mouth is saying something else. When denying any feelings for a certain boy, a boy who seems to come up in conversation quite a bit during dance class carpooling, her face said it all. I had bought into her denial of feelings for said person, but realized I had never been looking at her. I was driving. It wasn't until his name came up while standing face to face that I saw the cold, hard truth.

SHE HAD DREAM-KITTEN EYES!!!

Oh. My. God. Lord help the boy on the other end of that stare because, I, as her mother, was nearly undone. She could have told me she was really Bernie Madoff and I wouldn't have cared... not when looking at those eyes.

She was flustered and frustrated. She seemed somewhat relieved to know that the cat was out of the bag, but was also irked that her mother could still read her face so well. Her mother was reading what years of evolution had packed into a stare. She couldn't have made those eyes on her own. No, bigger things were at work and so starts the fun, sometimes painful, sometime treacherous, on again/off again, mating dance. This boy won't be the only one to see those eyes, but he's the first to see those eyes.

Lord help us all.

Separated at birth

I just can't look at this:

And not think of this:

 

In response to the commentary down below... Lieberman always reminded me of someone else...

 

I give you exhibit A...

 

Except... I like Ray Walston (RIP).

Noises you shouldn't hear in the middle of the night

Continuing on the theme of things that scare me, but shouldn't, I was awakened in the middle of the night by an odd sound. No, it wasn't the vacuum... it sounded more like the Pop-Up Video sound... that little popping noise they'd make as an info bubble showed up. Or... the noise you hear to alert you that a chat window has opened and someone is responding... It's not a scary noise, but there was no reason I should have been hearing it in the middle of the night.

At first I thought it was coming from my nightstand area. I mentally ran down the list of items on the table and could not think of one thing that would be making that noise. That is when it hit me... it was some fiend in the corner, holding a suction cup dart, pushing it, then pulling it off the wall, over and over, until I woke up. It knew I would find that creepier than say a growl or a hiss. Take an innocuous noise and do it over and over in the middle of the night and suddenly, it becomes sinister.

I rolled over to see if Grizzled could hear it as well only to discover it was Grizzled. I still have no idea how he was making that noise while asleep. I stared at him the best I could in the dark and watched his mouth with that combo of love/disgust that only decades of knowing someone can bring. While semi-amused that he was able to make this sound, I was also miffed that I was now wide awake. I moved to the couch figuring at least one of us should get a good night's sleep... besides, he was still making that noise and if I stayed, I'd either hit him or burst out laughing.

This morning, a morning that came way too soon, Grizzled came downstairs rubbing his mouth, saying that his lips and facial muscles felt kind of sore and he had no idea why... he then looked at me and said it didn't look like I got much sleep. I didn't know whether I should hit him or burst out laughing.

I watch too many ghost story shows...

Today, while vacuuming the latest crop of dog hair tumbleweeds and errant pistachio shells, I kept hearing someone following me. I was alone in the house, except for the dog... and it wasn't the dog. The dog hates the vacuum and once it was started, headed for the landing...

I'd vacuum, using our less than stellar canister vacuum (A former Hoover fan, they pissed me off after this purchase...). At one point, I noticed a following sound behind me... sounding almost like a sheepish dog, but no, the dog was still cowering on the landing.

I continued vacuuming... only to hear that "following" sound again!

My mind raced. Our house is not that old and does not have a tormented history! What was following me as I vacuumed!??!! I did it some more, inching forward, removing more grit and hair.

WHERE WAS THAT SOUND COMING FROM!??!!!@@!!???

WHO WAS FOLLOWING ME?!?!?

As a friend's mother would say... "Oh. Fer. Cry."

It was the vacuum...